


Best Seat in the House

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cock Warming, F/M, Fluff and Smut, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23093863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: Loki has just the thing to take your mind off of a terrible day.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 203





	Best Seat in the House

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a friend on tumblr, lots-of-loki. I hope y'all enjoy!

“You look dreadful, little one. Come here.”

The toe of your shoes onto the floor was almost silent as you stood in the entryway of your shared home, shucking off your peacoat at the same time. “Putting that silver tongue to good use, I see.”

“I was simply stating that it appeared you had a rough day, and I was going to offer you comfort in my arms.” The roll of his eyes was impressive, managing to somehow convey both playful adoration and true to the bone exasperation.

Your jeans hit the floor, too constricting after wearing them all day, in a less than graceful shimmy as you made your way to him on the couch. Wearing nothing but your underwear, fuzzy socks, and a thick, cream-colored fisherman’s sweater, you sat down in his lap on the couch. Your knees on either side of his hips, you were able to fully take in the concern etched into the planes of his sculpted features. The strong, steel bands of his arms wrapped around you and tugged you close to his chest, his own black sweater soft beneath your grasping fingers.

“Tell me about it,” he commanded gently, trailing his deft fingers up and down your bare thighs, raising goosebumps across them.

You launched into your day, lamenting traffic, moronic people you’re forced to pretend you respected, a misunderstanding between a friend, rattling on and on about every problem just to get the weight of them off of your shoulders. It would roll off his back, it typically did (unless someone truly disrespected or hurt you), and allow you both to enjoy the evening. You were just launching into dropping the salt shaker into your lunch when Loki tilted you forward so his lips could suck on the sensitive skin of your neck, while his hands inched their way underneath the low hem of your sweater.

“What are you-”

He nipped at your earlobe and growled, “Keep talking.”

As if it were easy to form a proper thought when your underwear melted away beneath his roaming hands, adding kindling to the fire flickering low in your belly where he massaged gently. Let alone vocalize that thought, as a quiet moan passed through your parted lips at the lave of his tongue over your racing pulse point. Your clutching hands dug into his shoulders when the feeling of his bare thighs rasped beneath you, and his arousal stiffened to rest just above where you wanted it most.

A light smack on your backside, and his mouth lifted to slant against yours. The taste of him, masculine and heady, intoxicating and sweet, poured through you like molten honey with the languid tangle of your tongues. Your hips shifted, rolling and writhing above him, seeking the friction that your throbbing center craved. Your quiet pants for air against the passion he ignited within you filled your ears to join with the roar of your heartbeat and his ragged, silk dragged through shards of glass murmurs of quiet approval, “there’s my girl” and “I’ve got you” and “yes”, in a thrilling symphony echoing around your lived-in home.

The worries of the day melted away from the flames licking up your skin, coaxed to life by the workings of his curling tongue underneath your jaw and the pad of his fingers circling over the glistening, needy pearl at the apex of your spread thighs. White clouded your vision, your silent cry of pleasure matched the deafening silence in your mind, and his broad chest became your safe haven as you collapsed against him in a boneless, trembling heap.

“That’s a good girl. So good for me,” he crooned into your ear, stroking down your back underneath the sweater with loving, soothing touches. “How do you feel now?”

You practically purred where your mouth anchored against his throat. The cool leather of the couch behind you was refreshing against your overheated wrists and hands. Just as your eyes blinked open from your blissed-out state, his hands grasped your hips, lifting you up before slowly lowering you down onto the length of his erection.

The stretch of him inside of you was exquisite, warm and full and leaving you unsure of where you ended and he began. You expected him to seek his own pleasure with your willing body, but he only held you close, adjusting your legs around him so that your muscles wouldn’t grow weary.

“Now,” he smiled, tangling one hand in your hair while the other rubbed small circles into your lower back. “Tell me about your day.”

Every misfortunate event suddenly seemed less dreadful, with the odd twitch of him inside of you and his lips teasing at the crown of your head. So, you listened to his adventures instead, smiling and laughing at his aggravating Stark and bickering with a petty member of the Asgardian council. It was an airing of the events more than anything, just putting them out there because you were interested in the other's life.

Nothing truly mattered when you were both exactly where you were meant to be.


End file.
